Bitter As Gall
by A Ghost Who Walks
Summary: Not all stories end happily. What great Wyrda decrees, in that we must abide. The prince does not always win the princess, the farmboy does not alway become a hero. A series of one-shots that aren't sugary-sweet. Shot 1, Murtagh and Nasuada.


It had been painful.

Nasuada had waited decades for this.

And then…when he came…pain.

She had waited for him, waited for him to recover from his ordeals and perhaps, perhaps rekindle their old attraction.

It had been for naught.

He had come, dashing and handsome, as always, he and Thorn. Flying proudly, with a spring in their steps, a glint in their eyes, and new authority in their voices. He'd had two young apprentices. Nuada, the pretty little elven maiden, whose silver hair always glistened as she tossed her head back with merry laughter. She who was the rider of dark orange Briam, a shy baby male. And little Sloan Roransson, who at age ten was nearly a carbon copy of his mother, but with his father's fierce grey eyes and silver tongue. He had come before her proudly, carrying a vibrantly blue female dragonling whom he had christened Marian, in honor of both his father's mother and the little sister who had only lived three days. Nasuada had high hopes for the two new Riders, who showed none of the distrust many other members of their races still harbored for one another.

Yes, Nasuada had been pleased.

That is, until she had a chance to talk, really talk, to Murtagh alone. He was taciturn as always, but there was a certain…distance in his behavior. She hadn't understood it until their little conversation. Nasuada felt her eyes sting as she recalled how it had went.

She had sent for the Red Rider. He was to come to her private rooms, for some tea and a little chat. Nasuada had been as nervous as a love-struck peasant, pacing to and fro, checking her hair, her dress…at times like this, it was hard to remember that she was a staid fifty-three year old, whose hair was streaked with grey and whose middle was, perhaps, not quite as shapely as it had been in her younger days.

She inspected herself in the mirror. Her hair was pinned back, as always. She winced at the silver in the temples. Then she glanced over her dress. Red. Surely his favorite color. And it was silk, and Orrin had always said that she looked like a goddess in it, had he not? And yet…

"Lilla," she called, "Would you fetch my ruby pendant?"

Her lady-in-waiting nodded vigorously, disappearing into a back chamber for a minute, then coming back out with a pearl-inlaid ebony chest. " Here, my Lady," she said, flaxen curls bouncing as she nodded again. Lilla took out the necklace, carefully fastening it around Nasuada's neck.

The heavy pendant settled against the hollow of her throat, chilly metal cooling her over-hot skin. Nasuada bit her lip, jittery over Murtagh's impeding visit.

Lilla smiled. "My Lady, you shouldn't be so worried."

Easy for her to say, thought Nasuada, Lilla is young and comely, and has no trouble at all finding beaus. Still, Nasuada couldn't find it in her to be too irritated; Lilla had been her best lady-in-waiting since the death of her faithful Farica. Her lively humor and imagination had helped Nasuada on several occasions, though the young girl would always deny her part in any decisions. "I'm just here to serve my queen," she always insisted, running off to fetch a particularly flattering dress, or vital papers, or, if need be, a trip to Angela for an herbal potion to silence a yammering noble. Nasuada felt a smile tug at the corners of her mouth at the last. Then she remembered Murtagh, and immediately became nervous.

Lilla chuckled slightly. "My Lady, the Red Rider couldn't look at you and not be swept off his feet. You look wonderful."

Nasuada snorted. "I find it-" She froze. Someone was knocking at the door.

Lilla grinned. "My cue to leave," she said. As she left the room, she looked back over her shoulder with a wicked sparkle in her eyes. "I changed the sheets on the bed to silk. And if you need anything…just call!"

Nasuada flushed at Lilla's implied meaning, then glared at her retreating back.

Someone knocked on the door again, a little more insistently. Nasuada looked at herself one more time, patted her flushed cheeks, then called, "Come in."

Murtagh stepped in, looking even more handsome than she had remembered him. Confidence was etched into every line of his stature, and the constant guarded look, while still there, was not quite so grim and forbidding as the last time they had met.

She rose to her feet, the crimson silk rippling like a bloody waterfall around her. "Hello, Murtagh."

Murtagh bowed and took her hand. "My greetings, Nasuada Drottning," he said, kissing it.

Nasuada frowned at his formality, and at the greeting in elvish, the language of magic. "Please, Murtagh. Call me by my name."

Murtagh looked up. "But my Queen, you are royalty now, and-"

Nasuada smiled sweetly. "I will always be 'Nasuada' to you, Murtagh."

Murtagh's gaze faltered. "Nasuada, we need to talk-"

Worry stirred deep within Nasuada at his tone. "Yes, what is it?"

Taking a deep breath, as if in preparation for a dive, Murtagh said, "Your Majesty, this can't go on."

Her blood froze. "What?" she whispered, knees going weak.

"This," said Murtagh, gesturing at her horrified expression, "This 'forbidden love'. Majesty, you and I could never be. I'm practically immortal. You're human. I'm the King's Rider, you're the Lady of the Varden. I'm the Devil's Spawn, you're the daughter of a great, honored leader. You're the queen…and I'm a Rider, an independent."

"We could work around that-"

"No." Murtagh cut her off. "No, my Queen. Don't you hear the people's talk? How their queen lost her heart to Morzan's whelp and still pines after him? How she…loved that filth? This is jeopardizing your kingdom."

"But, Murtagh-"

"Please, Nasuada."

And when she looks at him, she sees faint traces of tears on his cheeks.

"I don't want to this any more then you do," he whispered hoarsely. "Nasuada…please…don't make this any harder than it has to be."

When she remained silent, he said again, words coming out strangled and agonized, "Please."

Nasuada felt a deep sob of anguish rip out of her throat, and her vision blurred. "Murtagh, I -"

At his pleading face, twisted with torment, she managed, "…Yes…I…"

She gripped the edge of the bed, shoulders shaking violently, feeling something warm trickle down her cheeks. Murtagh looked as pained as she did, nearly torn apart with grief, though there was an air of relief, as if he was happy not to deceive himself anymore. But he reached for her, then froze.

"I'll…I'll go," he rasped. "Nasuada, I truly love you…and I wish…I wish…"

"Go!" Nasuada half-choked, half-screamed. "You're making it worse."

Murtagh spun on his heel, groping for the door. He turned back to look at her, one last time, then jerked his gaze away with a sound akin to a sob. The door clicked shut behind him.

Sinking to the floor in a boneless heap, Nasuada buried her face in ring-covered hands, gut-wrenching sobs tearing out of her throat. She let out a wail like a wounded animal's then collapsed upon the floor, cool stone bruising her cheek.

Hours later, when Lilla had finally managed to persuade her queen to allow her entrance, she had comforted her, alternating with curses damning Murtagh to hell.

Nasuada only shook her head. Some things were never meant to be.


End file.
